D'yer Maker
by Paul Corrigan
Summary: It happened that the first love of Hiromi Shibahime, or if you please Hiromi Ikeda, was also a musician. (PG-13 mostly for language.)


Now that the Kazuma/Tsubasa situation has been resolved in the _Karekano_   
manga, "Ukyou Kuonji" in particular will be pleased to know I finally have a   
concept for the Tsubasa fic, which is now four months behind schedule.  
  
All others will be pleased to know that this fic is guaranteed 100% _South   
Park_ free, Monty Python free, Nanami Kiryu free, Quebec free, fat free and   
cholesterol free. It does allude to my previous fic "Susuharai," but I   
believe it is self-contained enough that reading "Susuharai" is not   
absolutely necessary to follow the plot.  
  
Some familiarity with Tsubasa Shibahime's situation is desirable as well, in   
particular the latest Tsubasa storyline in the Karekano manga. I have   
recounted the details of the storyline I thought necessary for following the   
story below, but the reader who is still confused can find translations of   
the storyline at karekano.isgreat.net.  
  
Comments welcome.  
  
This story will be archived in short order at Studio Poutine   
(www.msu.edu/user/corrig11/poutine.htm), at which "Susuharai" can be found by   
the interested reader.  
  
Paul Corrigan  
corrig11@pilot.msu.edu  
  
---  
  
The last conversation I had with my first love was a bitter quarrel in our   
apartment, to the tune of our screams of our child. As usual, it was about   
money. The amount he'd brought home from his latest "tour" was pitiful, but I,   
not he, was the one stuck at home getting calls from bill collectors in the few   
hours of free time I had to look after Kazuma, and it had begun to take   
its toll on my nerves. Being married to a member of a rock band had lost its   
glamour long ago; all I cared about these days was whether I'd have a roof   
over my head next month.  
  
"Maybe you still think the idea of sleeping in a van is glamorous,   
Kenichi, but I don't, all right?"  
  
"Jesus, Hiromi, do you even know what you're fucking saying? Do you think   
I like running all over the fucking place and not sleeping for three days on   
end and playing 'til my fingers bleed for fucking peanuts? Who do you think   
I'm doing this for?"  
  
"Well, if you don't like it, why don't you get a real job like everyone   
else we know did long ago so maybe we won't get evicted from our apartment,   
huh?"  
  
"Oh yeah, easy for you to say...What do you want me to do, huh? Pump gas?   
Flip burgers? Like that pays shit either? Hiromi, music's all I know how to   
do, all right?"  
  
"Yeah, you sure don't have a clue how to take care of your wife and son,   
that's for sure..."  
  
He reached out to embrace me. "Oh for Christ's sake, Hiromi, listen..."  
  
I pushed him away. "No, you listen! I've had it! I'm sick of eating   
instant ramen every night and looking after Kazuma all by myself and crying   
my eyes out every night because you're fuck knows where! You have two   
choices, Kenichi. Either you go call the band and tell them you're quitting   
tonight, or you get the hell out of here and I'll shift for myself because   
goddamnit I already do. So which is it?"  
  
"Oh God, not this again..."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"I've gotta go. We're playing at a bar in Yokohama tonight." He picked up   
his guitar case and headed for the door.  
  
"Fine!" I said, as he opened the door. "Fuck you too! I hope you rot in   
hell!" But I waited for the door to slam before I threw a plate at it,   
smashing the plate to bits.  
  
I never saw him alive again.  
  
---  
D'yer Maker  
---  
A _Kareshi Kanojo no Jijo_ ("_Karekano_") fanfic by Paul Corrigan  
---  
_Karekano_ concept devised by Masami Tsuda  
---  
  
One afternoon in December, my stepdaughter collapsed in the middle of a   
crowded shopping area in downtown Kawasaki. For all I know she would have   
died of hunger and cold right there if some guardian angel, in the form of a   
passerby, hadn't called 911 on his cellphone so she could be taken, as it   
happened, to the ER ward of the hospital where I work. She was kept for   
observation overnight, and hooked to an IV to get her blood sugar and   
electrolyte levels back to something compatible with human life.  
  
As it happened I was assigned to work in the ward where she had been   
placed the very next morning. I, knowing the case probably better than   
anyone, would have preferred to keep her on the IV, or at most tried to give   
her milk or orange juice. Anything but solid food. I knew for a fact that   
lately she'd eaten nothing at home for days on end, and I had no idea if   
she'd been eating anything anywhere else. She couldn't leave the hospital   
until she ate something solid, but that was all right with me. At least if   
she was at the hospital I knew she'd be okay and I could check on her while I   
was at work. As it was, given this and everything else, I was afraid to leave   
her on her own.  
  
But it wasn't my decision to make. Eiko Arima had condescended to visit   
the ward that morning, and her word was law. As far as she was concerned,   
contrary to all evidence, my stepdaughter wasn't the least bit ill.   
  
At the beginning of that year Takeshi Arima had resigned as president of   
the hospital, returning to private practice for personal reasons. Rumor had   
it the personal reasons was a falling out with the rest of the family, but I   
don't know the details. If they're anything like his sister Eiko, that   
doesn't surprise me. Technically Mrs. Arima's husband Yotaro had assumed her   
brother's position, but no real secret was made of the fact that she was in   
complete control. As senior vice-president, among her first acts was to   
announce not only the closing of our AIDS and substance abuse clinics and the   
firing of their entire staffs, but also the dismissal of all the unmarried   
nurses over twenty-five, that is, all the nurses who might actually need a   
living wage.   
  
It got better, from what I could gather from the rumor mill and news   
reports after her bull-in-a-china-shop antics gained press attention. She   
apparently had decided that not only did such "unseemly" people as AIDS   
patients and drug addicts have no right to medical attention, but the   
employment of single females, some with children they were daring to raise   
without fathers, was a threat to the moral fabric of the nation.   
  
I escaped the chop by sheer luck; I had just remarried the previous   
summer, and they needed to keep at least some people who knew what they were   
doing. Even so I was relegated to part-time status, losing most of my   
benefits in the process.  
  
Of course all the experienced nurses Mrs. Arima had fired had to be   
replaced by girls just out of high school, whose only redeeming quality was   
their willingness to work for practically nothing. They included, for   
example, the prescription drug addict I had to work with, who was fired when   
it came out that she was diluting the dosage of painkiller shots she was   
assigned to give patients and using the leftovers on herself--on the hospital's   
time no less.  
  
But enough about that. I could go on and on about the horror stories at   
work since Eiko Arima took over; everyone at the hospital has their favorite.   
I'm only telling you as much as I am to put into perspective just what sort   
of woman this is.  
  
Among Mrs. Arima's pastimes is showing up at a ward unannounced, to give   
orders and tell the nurses how to do their jobs and generally cause as much   
trouble as possible. That morning she was walking up and down the corridor in   
a clearly overpriced black dress, with a list of the patients and their   
ailments, and and peering into each semi-private room, apparently trying to   
decide whether the patients inside deserved to be treated or not. One time, I   
remember (not that morning, thank God), during a similar walkabout, she   
pounced on a visible minority who was beng treated for a stomach complaint   
(he might have been Iranian--I know he was a Muslim, because he'd asked for a   
Koran earlier in his best Japanese; after asking around I had to apologize   
and tell him we didn't have one handy), ordering him out of bed and out of   
the hospital within the hour. Her reason? "We can't take the risk he won't   
return home without paying his bill," she said. "Such people have no regard   
for Japanese law."  
  
I was about to go in to check on Tsubasa when I noticed her at Tsubasa's   
door, looking at her from the corridor. "Nurse Shibahime?"  
  
"Yes?" I squared my shoulders and tried to sound dutiful and not the least   
bit nervous. One must watch oneself around Mrs. Arima. She's had people fired   
for the least perceived dereliction of duty and/or verbal slip, or for that   
matter for no reason at all.  
  
"What's wrong with this one? I thought someone this young would be in the   
pediatric ward. What's she doing here?"  
  
"Tsubasa's seventeen, ma'am."  
  
To be fair to Mrs. Arima, it was an understandable mistake. When Kazuma   
met Tsubasa for the first time, he was convinced that she must have been a   
seventh grader at most, and said so. I won't disturb you with the details of   
the violent tantrum that Tsubasa threw as a result. I will say that the whole   
family's been banned from the five-star restaurant it took place in for life,   
and that Toshiharu was forced to pay the restaurant ungodly sums for repairs   
to the premises.   
  
In my admittedly short experience Tsubasa has always been remarkably   
strong (hence the amount of damage she was able to wreak in the restaurant),   
but Toshiharu tells me Tsubasa, when she was little, was quite a sickly girl,   
winding up in and out of hospitals throughout her childhood. She was also   
accident-prone. I met him when Tsubasa had been in the hospital before, after   
a skateboarding accident involving her running into a badly-constructed wall,   
which collapsed on top of her and pinned her down until she was discovered by   
a homeward bound third-shift factory worker the next morning (I couldn't have   
made this up).   
  
So there's a rational explanation, but at times I can't help thinking it's   
just because she's so childish. Of course my standard of comparison isn't too   
representative either. Kazuma had to practically raise himself, so he had to   
mature a good bit faster than she did. But the fact is Toshiharu doted on her   
far too much, treating her the way you'd treat a porcelain vase (these are   
his words, not mine). To be fair, I can't say I blame him--for a long time   
she was all he had. Even now, though, from what I've been able to gather from   
observing her around her friends when they've come to visit, she's firmly   
settled in her role as the baby of the group and seems to have no plans to   
give it up. It's as if she's so adamant about not wanting to grow up, that by   
sheer force of will she's stopped herself from growing any taller than your   
average 11-year-old.  
  
And yes, she is that stubborn. The story of how stubbornly she resisted   
her father marrying me is one that's too long for me to tell here, if I even   
cared to.  
  
She did accept me in the end, though. Me and Kazuma. She took to Kazuma   
like a duck to water.  
  
I married Toshiharu in the summer of last year, and Kazuma and I moved in   
with him and Tsubasa. The very day we moved in, while Kazuma's band mates,   
who'd shown up to lend a hand, were accosting Tsubasa and forcing Kazuma to   
defend her honor, Toshiharu wondered aloud about, of all things, whether   
step-siblings could get married.   
  
Oh God, we might as well have put two rabbits in a cage.  
  
Kazuma left the house one evening this April. None of us heard anything   
from him until three days later, when he called me at work to tell me where   
he was and that he didn't plan on coming back for a while. He must have been   
afraid he'd get Tsubasa on the line if he called the house. I'd had a fairly   
good idea he might have taken refuge at the apartment of his bandmates, but I   
found myself completely unable to do what I was sure anybody else would have   
done, namely order him to come home at once. I couldn't because I knew what   
this was about Tsubasa, and I told him so. (It never occurred to him that I'd   
seen what was happening between them. I really shouldn't joke about this, but   
I swear I never fail to dazzle Kazuma with my powers of perception.)  
  
Forcing him to come home might have done more harm than good. Mrs. Arima,   
as it happened, was on one of her rampages that morning, and I was afraid of   
the consequences of taking a personal call on hospital time. So I ended up   
telling him (a little crossly too) that I had to go, and would he just do me   
a favor and call now and again.  
  
He didn't.  
  
For a little while I kept telling myself that he was in good hands with   
the boys in the band. After all they'd taken good care of him in the past,   
and in any case my Kazuma was a resourceful boy who'd practically raised   
himself anyway. So there was no need to worry about him, because if he   
_wasn't_ calling there probably wasn't a problem. He was never the sort to   
call me at work just to say he loved his mother, and even at home we'd never   
been the most affectionate family. I'm ashamed to say it, but I sometimes   
think I'm nicer to Tsubasa than I ever was to Kazuma. Of course, I never had   
the choice of spoiling Kazuma.  
  
In June my maternal instincts finally got the better of me and I called   
the band's apartment, only to find the number had been disconnected. Even   
then it wasn't until October, when the school called to ask why he'd been   
absent for the past couple of weeks, and I had to tell them he'd been gone   
for months and I had no idea where he was--that I really began to lose hope   
that he'd ever come back.  
  
Tsubasa lost hope long before I did. The day she learned Kazuma had moved   
in with the band was the day she began to waste away before my eyes.  
  
"You know her, then?" asked Mrs. Arima.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "She's my stepdaughter."  
  
"Oh? Is that right?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Well then, you must   
have some idea about what might be the problem with her. Hm. Hypoglycemia, it   
says here. Has she a digestive problem?"  
  
"Not as such, ma'am..." I lowered my voice. "She hasn't been eating at   
home. I had no idea how malnourished she was until she showed up in ER. She's   
been having personal problems. I'd rather not go into the details without her   
permission..."  
  
"Oh for God's SAKE, nurse!" Mrs. Arima nearly threw her list at me. "Let   
me tell you this--I am sick and tired hearing about silly little girls going   
on blasted hunger strikes because they think it'll get them in some boy's   
pants!" She laughed cruelly. "What? Does she think she's fat? Has she seen   
herself? What a joke!"   
  
"With all due respect, I don't think it is, Mrs. Arima." Actually as far   
as I was concerned Mrs. Arima wasn't due any respect at all, but I tried my   
best to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, and look her in the eye. It wasn't   
easy; probably without realizing it she'd hit a bit too close to home.  
  
"Listen, nurse. It's clear to anybody with sense that all your   
stepdaughter needs is food. That, and a good shaking from her stepmother   
might be of enormous help, to my mind. This person happens to be taking up a   
bed that could be used by someone who actually needs medical assistance and   
doesn't just want to play the tragic heroine. That," Mrs. Arima went on,   
glaring at me as he did so, "and I don't approve of you encouraging her   
antics. Keep in mind it's not your money. I was never indulged like this.   
Now. I'm feeling generous today, so what I'd like you to do is to force   
something down her throat, and then get her out of that bed and get her home   
at once, and do what you have to do to make her understand this is not to   
happen again, or, better yet, have her father do it. Understood?"  
  
"Mrs. Arima, I'm not sure she could keep it down right now. We've been   
feeding her intravenously. Even then there's nobody at home to come collect   
her. My husband's away on business..."  
  
"Then you'll have to take her home then. In any case, she can't leave   
until she eats." Mrs. Arima clapped her hands. "Move."  
  
Talking reason gets you nowhere with Mrs. Arima. No solid breakfast had   
been prepared for Tsubasa, so I mumbled an acknowledgement and went down to   
the cafeteria to get her a bowl of rice. When I came back up Mrs. Arima was   
still there, waiting by the door, and as I went in to Tsubasa I could feel   
her eyes on the back of my neck, watching me to make sure I did as I was   
told.  
  
Mrs. Arima had been quite loud, but Tsubasa had managed to stay asleep   
through it all. I knelt by the side of the bed and shook her gently.  
  
"Good morning, Tsubasa. It's me, Hiromi."   
  
I gave up trying to get Tsubasa to call me "mom" a long time ago. She'd   
made it quite clear she wasn't comfortable doing so. It occurred to me at   
last that if I made her I'd just be indulging myself at her expense. I'd   
always dreamed of having a little girl. But in spite of appearances she's not   
a little girl any more. That was part of the problem.   
  
She stirred and looked up at me vacantly, still half asleep.  
  
"Are you hungry this morning? I got you some rice. Do you feel like   
eating?" I went on, as chirpily as possible for her benefit. I was just   
hoping she hadn't seen Mrs. Arima yet. I dug into the rice with some   
chopsticks and offered it to her.  
  
Tsubasa didn't answer at once. Even at the best of times she's not a big   
talker. She looked at the rice, looked at me (and my apprehensive expression,   
I'm sure), than back at the rice. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she sat   
up a bit and took the rice.   
  
Then, apparently without prompting from the scary lady standing at the   
door, she spoke.  
  
"I wanna go home."  
  
---  
  
But she couldn't, at least not then.  
  
This was not without effort from Mrs. Arima, mind you. The moment she   
heard Tsubasa she pounced, walking in daintily, smiling smarmily at us both   
and beginning, "Hello, Tsubasa! Your new mother's told me all about you..."  
  
Tsubasa sat up very quickly, frowned at Mrs. Arima, and looked her over.  
  
"Who the heck're you? The Wicked Witch of the West?"  
  
I nudged her. "Tsubasa, mind your manners. She runs the hospital."  
  
Tsubasa backed off. "Oh. 'k."  
  
Mrs. Arima scowled at her. "Well," she said through her teeth, "glad to   
see you're feeling better. I hope you realize you've caused your new mother a   
lot of trouble. I want you to go home with her now and tell her you're   
sorry..."  
  
I wanted to play peacemaker and assure Tsubasa she hadn't caused any   
trouble at all, but Tsubasa wasn't having Mrs. Arima's nonsense for a second.   
"Okay, okay, I'm going. C'n I get dressed in peace at least? Jeez."  
  
"Of course, Tsubasa." I stood up and headed for the door so she could   
change into her street clothes. Mrs. Arima, after standing there for a moment   
loking stunned, decided follwing me would be a good idea. Probably not many   
people had talked to her like that before. It was all I could do not to   
laugh.  
  
By the time Mrs. Arima had gotten back to the corridor, however, she'd   
completely recovered. She gave me a nasty look. "Your stepdaughter has quite   
a tongue on her, hasn't she?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Arima. She's a nice girl really." I laughed, tryiong to   
put a good side on it. "This is good, actually. If she has the energy to   
answer back she really must be feeling better..."  
  
"Yes. She bounced back a little quickly for someone who's been starving,   
don't you think?"  
  
I just laughed nervously. Mrs. Arima didn't say any more, but continued to   
stand there in silence, glaring at me and making sure I didn't escape until   
Tsubasa was dressed and emerged from the room dressed for the cold.   
  
"C'n we go now?" said Tsubasa.  
  
"Of course," I said, "once I get my things. Mrs. Arima's letting me take   
off work so we can go home together. Isn't that nice? Say thank you to Mrs.   
Arima..."  
  
Tsubasa seemed to have remembered her manners. She smiled cutely and bowed   
low to Mrs. Arima. "Thank you ma'am."  
  
"You, nurse," said Mrs. Arima, not acknowledging Tsubasa, "I want back   
here in two hours. You're to make up for it tonight. Two extra hours at   
regular scale. Now, you had better be off, and I have work to do. Good day."  
  
And with that Mrs. Arima turned to go.  
  
The moment she turned her back Tsubasa kicked Mrs. Arima square in the   
behind, knocking her flat on the floor, and to top it off blew a loud   
raspberry.  
  
I just stood there frozen in shock. All the other staff in the corridor at   
the time looked on, thunderstruck.   
  
A patient in a wheelchair, who had been watching the scene with interest,   
broke the silence by enthusiastically applauding.  
  
The applause unfroze me. I did my duty and ran over to Mrs. Arima to check   
on her. "Are you all right?" I said, surprising myself with the sincerity of   
my concern (force of habit, I guess).  
  
"Yes." Mrs. Arima picked herself up, apparently not seriously hurt. "Yes,   
I'm just fine, no thanks to her."   
  
She stormed over to Tsubasa and grabbed her by the shoulders. Tsubasa just   
looked at her, not even blinking.  
  
"All right, miss. Just for that, I'm not going to let your new mother take   
off work after all. So you can sit at the front desk all day now and think   
about how much trouble you've caused, and I can let her deal with you when   
she's done here, and you can thank your lucky stars it'll be her, because   
rest assured I would be only too happy to give you the thrashing of your   
life." She shoved Tsubasa in my direction. "Nurse, get this brat out of my   
sight. I have better things to do than put up with this sort of thing."  
  
When Mrs. Arima turned her backs on us again, Tsubasa restrained herself   
from kicking her again. That said, once Mrs. Arima had stormed down the   
corridor and out of sight and earshot, furtively rubbing her injured behind,   
an encore performance wasn't necessary for the staff to now break out in   
cheers and applause.  
  
Tsubasa smiled and curtsied. I wanted to tell them not to encourage her,   
but I really hadn't the heart to do so.  
  
---  
For a thousand mothers  
---  
  
So there was nothing for it but to take Tsubasa downstairs to the front   
desk. I gave her a can of orange juice from the dispenser there and told her   
to sit and behave, and that I'd be back at lunchtime to check on her, and not   
to bother the staff too much.  
  
"C'n I go to the cafeteria?" she said, pouting and looking miserable. "I'm   
hungry."  
  
"No, Tsubasa. You can't eat solid food yet. Your system isn't used to it   
any more. I didn't want to even give you the rice. If I'd given you much more   
than I did you'd have just thrown it up."  
  
"So why'd you give me the rice at all and be like, 'Good morning, hon! You   
want some nummy rice?' Jeez."  
  
"Mrs. Arima made me. I might have gotten fired if I didn't."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because she's crazy, that's why! Don't even try to understand!"  
  
"Nah. I understand." Tsubasa took her jacket off (she knew she wasn't   
going anywhere for a while) and sat down with her juice. "Miyazawa's   
boyfriend's a psycho too. His dad used to work here. So that was his aunt,   
right?"  
  
It was silly of me really, but I hadn't realized Soichiro Arima's family   
was the Arima family I worked for, despite the fact I'd met him several   
times. He never spoke of his family, and I'd never gotten around to asking   
him. It seems he had been seeing Yukino Miyazawa, one of Tsubasa's friends,   
for some time now. I raised an eyebrow. "I thought you liked Soichiro   
Arima..."  
  
"Oh, Arima's nice to me 'n stuff. That don't mean he ain't a psycho."   
Tsubasa sipped her juice. "I pity Miyazawa sometimes."  
  
I decided to let it go at that. In spite of everything I still had a job   
to do. I explained the situation to the young woman at the desk--a very young   
girl, not much older than Tsubasa--and asked her would she keep an eye on   
Tsubasa for me.  
  
She said yes, of course, but the truth was neither of us had a choice. As   
I went back to work I'm sure I heard her say, "What is this, a day care   
center? Shit."  
  
For all that when I got back at lunch time to check on Tsubasa she and the   
secretary were thick as thieves. Tsubasa, when she behaves herself, has an   
uncanny ability to make people adopt her as their little sister, regardless   
of their age, gender, or other background. Years of practice, I suspect. She   
was arguing with the secretary about what to watch on the television set up   
in the lobby for people to watch while they were waiting.  
  
"I wanna watch the Kaho Mizuki trial," said Tsubasa. Kaho Mizuki, in   
case you've been on the moon, is the former schoolteacher who was indicted,   
and eventually convicted, on several counts of child molestation in that   
month's trial of the century. She was extradited to Japan from Britain, where   
she'd apparently been living in sin with a twelve-year-old Japanese boy, who   
the press had nicknamed "Ariel" in lieu of his concealed real name.  
  
"No way, girl. That ain't kid's stuff," said the secretary, who apparently   
had the remote.  
  
"I'm not a kid." I had to titter when Tsubasa said that. If she had to   
say it at all, she couldn't have expected it to help her case.  
  
"Don't matter. This is a family hospital. Damn, girl, you want some five-  
year-old sitting there and hearing about that sort of shit? 'Sides, I don't   
need some kid's mom kicking my ass."  
  
"So, you think Kaho's going down? She should, she sounds like a real sicko   
to me."  
  
"I dunno. She's got a damn smooth defense. 'Sides, I don't believe half   
the stuff they're saying. You buy all that stuff with Crowley and tarot cards  
and shit? I sure don't."  
  
"They accused Terada of the same sorta stuff. Well, the perverted stuff   
anyway. It could happen."  
  
"Terada? Shit, he was guilty as sin, girl! No way should he have walked!"  
  
I walked over to Tsubasa at the desk and cleared my throat. "Tsubasa, I   
got you some lunch..."  
  
She turned to face me, looked at the bottle of milk I was holding up, and   
pulled a face. "Milk. Yay."  
  
"I'm sorry, Tsubasa, I already..."  
  
Tsubasa waved her hand and took the milk. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Give me   
that." She sat down with the milk, opened it and took a swig.  
  
"Has she been any trouble?" I asked the secretary.  
  
"No ma'am, she's been good. Pretty smart kid. How old is she anyhow?"  
  
"Seventeen."  
  
The secretary looked a bit confused. "Oh. You don't say."  
  
"Don't sweat it, I get it a lot." Tsubasa didn't look at us as she said   
it. She took another drink. I sat down beside her. I was silent for a moment,   
not at all sure where to begin.  
  
In the end I settled on: "Tsubasa, do you want to go to school tomorrow?"  
  
"Sure. Why wouldn't I?"  
  
"I mean...if you're not feeling up to it, just say so...I mean, given   
everything that's been happening..."  
  
"I'll be fine." Tsubasa took a swig as if for emphasis. "No point me   
sitting around here anyway."  
  
"Don't let Mrs. Arima get to you. She had no right to make you leave   
before you were ready..."  
  
"Nah. 'Sokay. I hate this place anyway. Sitting by yourself in a hospital   
bed sucks ass. If I wanted to sit in bed I could do it at home." She took   
another swig, and looked at me, frowning. "What was with you anyway, kissing   
her butt like that? What's the matter with you?"  
  
"Count your blessings, Tsubasa," I shot back. "You're still a kid. You can   
still tell people what you think of them and get away with it."  
  
"I'm not a kid."  
  
"Look, I don't like her either. Nobody does."  
  
"No kidding. Look, if you're expecting me to apologize, you're out of   
luck. Her ass needed kicking. It was a matter of principle."  
  
"I'd rather not die for your principles, miss. I'm lucky I still have a   
job."  
  
She suddenly smiled at me. "Come on. You'd been dying to do that for ages.   
Admit it."  
  
It was true, but it was beside the point. "Look, if you want people to not   
treat you like a kid, you should learn not to pull stunts like that any more,   
okay? God, I thought I'd die of embarrassment..."  
  
Tsubasa didn't reply immediately. When she did, after taking another swig,   
she sounded awfully thoughtful.  
  
"Are you mad at me?"  
  
"About Mrs. Arima?"  
  
"No. About everything else. About acting up and not eating and winding up   
in the hospital and stuff." If she wasn't sorry about Mrs. Arima (and, to be   
honest, neither was I), she did seem genuinely sorry about that, judging by   
her expression. Not to mention hungry. "That was dumb. I'm okay now. I won't   
do this again. God, I'm _starving_..."  
  
"I know, Tsubasa, I know. I'm not mad, really." I tried reaching out to   
touch her shoulder. "It's okay, I understand..."  
  
"Look, don't, okay?" she suddenly snapped waving me away. "Don't act all   
sweet and stuff and saying you're sorry like it'll actually make me feel   
better, 'cause it won't, all right!" She stopped herself. She paused, and   
took a breath. "I'm sorry. Look...I just don't want to discuss it, a'right?   
I'm over it, really." She finished her milk. "Jesus, if I'm not over being   
left in the dust when something better comes along by now, I never will."  
  
My heart froze in my chest.   
  
"You have no idea how much that hurt, Tsubasa."  
  
She looked at me, clearly apprehensive, obviously realizing what she'd said.   
"I wasn't talking about Papa, Hiromi, I swear..."  
  
"Then who did you mean, my dear?"  
  
"Someone else. Take too long to explain." She hung her head. "I'm sorry. I   
didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm just not in a great mood right now,   
'k? My stomach's rumbling something awful, I bet you can hear it..."  
  
I believed her. Tsubasa wasn't the sort to make verbal slips like that. If   
she held something against you, she said so and didn't apologize for it. I'd   
learned that the hard way.   
  
"Do you want some more milk?" I asked, trying to sound concilatory.  
  
Tsubasa looked me over suddenly. "Where's your lunch anyway?"  
  
"I ate it in the cafeteria. I figured you didn't need me eating in front   
of you."  
  
"Oh. Thanks, I guess."  
  
"So do you want more milk?"  
  
"Yah I want more milk!"  
  
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She certainly was trying to act   
like her old self, but I wasn't sure how much of it to believe. I went back   
to the cafeteria, got her the milk and sat back down beside her in silence,   
watching her drink for a few minutes.  
  
"What?" she said at last, making me realize I'd been staring.   
  
"Tsubasa...it's not like I don't know what all this is about..."  
  
"Look, it's not your fault, okay? Not like you made him run away with his   
dumb band."  
  
"I want him to come home too..."  
  
"That makes one of you. What's he want to come home for anyway? For all   
you know he's got a pack of groupies by now. What's he need his mommy and his   
dumb sister holding him back for? I figure he's happy being a big rock star,   
and that's fine by me. He can go to hell for all I care, and take his dumb   
band with him." She opened the milk and took a big swig. "Men are bastards."  
  
"Tsubasa, don't say things like that!"  
  
"Oh, God, not the old 'be careful what you wish for' crap? Whatever." She   
took another swig, and stared into the bottle. "I'm sure he'll be just fine."  
  
"Did I ever tell you about Kazuma's father?"  
  
She looked up at me. She looked surprised, and not uninterested, but was   
trying not to show it. "No."  
  
"Would you like me to?"  
  
She considered it for a moment. "You sure you wanna? You never did   
before."  
  
"You didn't ask. Neither did your father, even when you weren't there. Of   
course, there was a reason for that."  
  
Tsubasa took another drink. "What was he like?"  
  
"My Kenichi," I said, settling back in my seat and putting on the best   
storytelling voice I could muster, "was in a rock and roll band."  
  
"Whoa." Tsubasa looked impressed. "I actually just wanted to know what he   
looked like."  
  
"Well..." And I started giggling for some reason. "The fact was he was   
gorgeous...!"  
  
"Tall, short, fat, thin, what?"  
  
"Oh. Oh THAT!" I said, remembering myself. "Um. Actually Kazuma looks just   
like him. Take Kazuma, give him long black hair instead of his short blonde   
hair and you've got Kenichi."  
  
"You got a picture of him?"  
  
I thought for a moment. "I don't know if I do."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I got rid of just about all of them when I started getting serious with   
your father. At the time I thought, I can't have him in my house, I have to   
move on. But then, if you're worrying about that, maybe you're not ready to   
move on. I do know Kazuma didn't appreciate it at all. We had an enormous   
fight about it."  
  
"Well, the guy was still his dad, right?"  
  
"There was that, but...well, Kazuma idolized his father. From the time he   
could talk he'd tell me, 'I wanna be a rock star like dad!' And I'd just   
smile and tell him, 'You can be anything you want, Kazuma.' When he got big   
he got a bit shyer about saying things like that, of course, but...I'm   
convinced Kazuma ended up being a musician because of his father. didn't he   
ever mention him to you?"  
  
"No. Was he famous?"  
  
"No, no. When I met him was in one of those little local bands that wasn't   
ever going to go anywhere. Of course I was a girl and that never occurred to   
me for a second." I chuckled. "Want to know how we met?"  
  
"How?"  
  
I bent over and whspered in her ear. "I threw my panties on the stage."  
  
Her jaw just about dropped. "WHAT?"  
  
"I wanted to be able to say I'd done it. It worked."  
  
"You've got to be kidding me."  
  
"Yes, Tsubasa, once upon a time I was a groupie. Scary thought, huh?"  
  
"No...no..." I'm sure Tsubasa was backing away. "Just can't see you   
throwing your panties at anyone..."  
  
"Have no fear, my groupie days are over." I sat back in my seat and   
continued, more seriously. "Actually they were over by the time Kazuma came   
along."  
  
"What'd he play anyway?"  
  
"Hair music."  
  
"Whazzat?"  
  
"Music played by people with big hair like Kenichi." I laughed. "Lots of   
Heavy metal. Some Zeppelin, Black Heaven...Oh God, I loved Black Heaven. So   
did Kazuma. When he was little he'd play my old _Space Invader_ LP at volume 10   
and he'd air guitar to it until I'd yell, 'TURN THE NOISE DOWN!'" I laughed.   
"God, that's when I knew I was getting old..."  
  
"Who're Black Heaven?"  
  
"You wouldn't remember them. They were a one-hit wonder band when I was   
about your age. _Space Invader_ was their only album. What happened to them   
only God knows. People called them a Japanese Zeppelin ripoff, but I thought   
they were fabulous. Gabriel was Kenichi's idol."  
  
"Gabriel?"  
  
"The lead singer of Black Heaven."  
  
"Oh. Shows what I know." Tsubasa paused, hesitating. "Hiromi..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What happened to him?"  
  
"Kenichi?"  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You don't hafta say if you don't wanna. It's okay."  
  
"No. No, it's all right. It was a long time ago." I said that, but I had   
to take a deep breath before going on, and prmoise myself not to cry.   
"Kenichi dropped out of high school to play in the band because he thought he   
had a good chance of being discovered. He wasn't, but he kept at it anyway,   
even after everyone else we knew had grown up and gotten married, after I'd   
married him, joined the hospital...had Kazuma...thing was after a while the   
sorts of music he knew how to play went out of fashion and he couldn't get as   
much work as he used to, and pretty soon we were this close to starving,   
because I wasn't making nearly enough on my wages either. At one point he   
didn't play for two months, and we were down to a meal a day. How we survived   
I don't know.  
  
"Anyway, it was more than I bargained for, to put it mildly, and I took it   
out on him. When he was home, towards the end, we did nothing but fight. And   
I'd tell him I thought he didn't care about me and Kazuma as long as he could   
keep playing music and not grow up like everyone else. When I did he'd shoot   
back, more or less, that he kept playing in the band because he couldn't do   
anything else, and in retrospect he might have been telling the truth.  
  
"Anyway, one night I told him I couldn't take it any more and told him to   
get out. And he didn't come back."  
  
"How'd you know he died?" asked Tsubasa, looking concerned.  
  
"It wasn't the first time I'd told him to leave, mind you. I'd get really   
angry and tell him to get out, and he'd say, 'Fine, I'm going.' And for a few   
days he'd stay away, I guess until he'd managed to get some work so he could   
hold up his head when he came back and say, 'I'm home, can I come in?' and by   
then we'd have both cooled down and of course I'd let him in, and he'd give   
me every penny. He was good about that. And in my heart of hearts I guess I   
knew he was trying to take care of me as best he knew how. I know I didn't   
really want him to leave me, but...one night we fought again, and he left the   
apartment in a huff, and the next thing I knew I was being called to the   
morgue to identify him."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"The band's van got hit by a truck. By the time the ambulance got him to   
the hospital he was dead." I could hear my voice getting ragged, and I tried,   
and failed, to control it. "He'd come back before, but the fact was it was all  
unraveling before my eyes. I don't know how much longer we'd have stayed   
even if he'd lived. As it is..." I sobbed. "As it is I'll never know if he   
planned to come back that time or not. I mean, as far as I could tell I'd   
basically told him to choose between his music and me, and in the end he ran off   
and got himself killed because I made him run away. I blamed myself for years."   
I began to choke up. "I don't know, maybe I still do. I'm sorry, Tsubasa..."  
  
"'Sokay." Now Tsubasa had to reach out and try to console me. "Don't cry.   
He'd've come back."  
  
I wiped my eyes. "That's really sweet of you to say, Tsubasa, but..."  
  
"Kazuma did."  
  
My heart just about stopped. I looked her in the eye. "What?"  
  
"Kazuma came back. It was last night. He said he loved me and he really   
didn't want to run away. He wanted to kiss me, but I got scared and I   
couldn't, and he got sad. He said he wanted to know if I loved him too."  
  
"You must have been dreaming. How could he have known you were here?"  
  
She looked at me quizzically.   
  
"Didn't that ever happen to you? I thought people saw their dead   
boyfriends in their dreams and stuff."  
  
"Tsubasa," I said, "Kazuma isn't dead." That was the only thing I was sure   
of. If he had died, at least then I'd have heard some news of him.  
  
Tsubasa didn't reply. She turned away and settled down in her seat,   
looking straight ahead.  
  
"Being a rock and roll widow isn't half as glamorous as people think," I   
added.  
  
Tsubasa continued to stare straight ahead, not looking at me. "That was   
the impression I was getting, yeah."  
  
Then, sadly, she added: "I figured he'd be back in a few days too."  
  
Her words hit a bit too close to home. In the months and years after   
Kenichi died all I thought about was him. It even hurt when Kazuma had told   
me in his innocence that he wanted to be a musician like his father. I would   
smile, but I'd think all the while, yes, and you'll run away from me and die   
just like your father.  
  
But somehow I hadn't dreamt of Kenichi. Not once. Or perhaps, if the dead   
haunt people's dreams, he'd thought it best to stay away.  
  
"D'you still got the Black Heaven LP?" When Tsubasa spoke again I got a   
bit of a shock, perhaps having lapsed into a reverie like hers without   
knowing it.  
  
"Why, Tsubasa?" I asked.  
  
"Did you throw that out too?"  
  
I thought a moment. "No. No, that was mine before I met Kenichi. I think   
it might be in Kazuma's room." I laughed a bit. "He's the only one who's   
listened to it lately."  
  
"C'n I listen to it when we get home?"  
  
"Of course." I tried to smile, and rose from my seat. "I'd better get back   
to work."  
  
---  
  
Tsubasa and I didn't get home until eight o'clock that evening. I put her   
straight to bed, and she didn't protest. I hadn't thought she'd be up to   
dancing to Black Heaven in her condition anyway.  
  
She insisted on going to school the next morning. I wasn't keen on it   
myself, if only because I was afraid she'd be tempted to stuff herself, but I   
decided to risk it. Fortunately, she didn't succumb to temptation, but she   
told me later she'd ended up making many more visits to the bathroom than   
normal.  
  
"To pee," she added, to reassure me. "It was a lot of juice."  
  
A few days later I was working during the evening. Mrs. Uchida was there   
that night, as she had been the evening Tsubasa was brought in, and she took   
me aside to ask me how she was doing. I was able to say with pride that she'd   
kept down some rice porridge that morning, and was looking appreciably   
better. "No thanks to Mrs. Arima," I added.  
  
"Mrs. Ikeda," Mrs. Uchida said to me in her Yamaguchi accent--I'd know it a   
mile off--"Mrs. Ikeda, pardon me for saying so, but what I saw couldn't have   
happened overnight. Is there anything the matter with her at home?" (She still  
calls me Mrs. Ikeda from force of habit. I never bother to correct her.)  
  
"Well..."  
  
"She's not going around saying she's fat, is she?"  
  
"Not that she ever told me..."   
  
"Well, she mightn't, you know. Sure if I were you I'd be taking her to see   
someone about this. It isn't normal, Mrs. Ikeda. You shouldn't take chances with   
something like this..."  
  
"It's not anorexia. She wants to eat now. I feel horrible about only being  
able to give her rice porridge. I think she's starting to get over what was   
bothering her. I think."  
  
"And what was that?"  
  
I lowered my voice. "It's Kazuma. She was pining away because she missed   
him so much. You know what she told me?" I smiled. "She dreamt she saw him   
the night she was here..."  
  
"But he was here."  
  
I just looked at her as if she'd been speaking Greek to me. "What?"  
  
"He was here. He came to see her."  
  
"On your shift? In the middle of the night? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Did he not tell you he'd been here?"  
  
"No he didn't!" I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her desperately.   
"I haven't heard from him in months and he just shows up here in the middle   
of the night? Is he all right?"  
  
"Sure he looked all right to me, Mrs. Ikeda. He's grown a bit so I didn't   
know who it was at first, but it was him all right. I'm actually about to check   
on her, and there's your man in the corridor, asking is Tsubasa Shibahime there,   
and your one Miss Yoshida says, 'Visiting hours are over, sir. Please leave the   
building.' And I said, leave him alone, sure this is Hiromi Ikeda's son, how   
are you, pet? Because I hadn't seen him in the longest time. And he says,   
'Fine, ma'am.' And I tell her, sure all he wants to see is his sister, it   
won't do any harm. Because Miss Yoshida's one of the new ones and she didn't   
know him from Adam, and she must have looked at him with his bleached hair and   
thought he was some sort of hooligan trying to rip something off under our   
noses, but I put in a good word for him. Because I'd never heard a bad thing   
about him. And Miss Yoshida says at last, 'Be quick as you can, sir.' And he   
says, 'Yes, ma'am.' And we let him go in for a few minutes, and he comes out and   
says thank you very much, and off he goes on his way, and that was that."  
  
I let Mrs. Uchida go and let my arms hang by my sides.  
  
"I see. He came to see her and not me."  
  
"He might have been in a hurry, Mrs. Ikeda. Sure they tell me he's turning   
into quite the celebrity. The nurses in the pediatric ward hear nothing   
from the girls but about Yinyang, even I know who they are. He must be a busy   
fella these days. You know, his father'd be proud of him. God knows he's doing  
everything his father wanted to do and more."  
  
"Maybe, Mrs. Uchida. I don't know. Right now I don't care."  
  
"You're sure it wasn't you told him she was here?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"Then who was it?"  
  
"How should I know?" I was really getting into a state. "Didn't you tell   
him to get a hold of me? Find out here he was living? Anything at all"  
  
"Well, this is it. If he's not already, I couldn't very well make him,   
Mrs. Ikeda, now could I? If he was going to he could have done it, and him in   
town. I was sure he'd've gone to see his own mother, and that's what I thought   
he did, so I didn't bother telling you, because I didn't see the point."  
  
I thought about that. "No. I guess you're right. It makes sense really."  
  
"Mrs. Ikeda?" Mrs. Uchida hesitated before continuing. "Mrs. Ikeda, I know   
this isn't any of my business, but...have you any idea why he mightn't have   
called? Is he afraid to come home? Did you have a fight?"  
  
"It makes sense he'd visit her and not me. I was the one who told him he   
should stay away."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Excuse me, I need the bathroom."  
  
Mrs. Uchida looked completely thunderstruck. She didn't try to stop me.   
  
I can't say how long I spent in the bathroom, sobbing and cursing and   
banging the mirror. Mrs. Uchida says she came after me after about twenty   
minutes, but it felt like hours. Thank God Mrs. Arima never visits at night.   
I do know that by the time Mrs. Uchida came in to check on me I'd stopped   
crying, and I was just staring at the mirror, muttering to myself. Just what,   
I don't remember exactly, I was so out of it.   
  
Mrs. Uchida and I grew up listening to the same tunes. She tells me I   
was singing Led Zeppelin, of all things, apparently trying to soothe myself.  
She'd know. Back in Ube as a teenager she consumed everything Zeppelin she  
could find.  
  
It makes complete sense to me.  
  
"Oh, oh oh oh oh oh  
You don't have to go, oh oh oh  
You don't have to go, oh oh oh  
Darling please, don't go..."  
  
TSUZUKU  



End file.
